J. Kenner - Heated

“Our food is going to be a congealed and greasy mess,” I whispered.

“We could eat,” he said, but his voice promised something more delicious. “Or we could continue the—what did you call it—sex-a-thon? Your choice, Detective.”

“That’s not even a contest,” I said, my pulse already kicking up. “Where are you going to take me now?”

“I like this spot,” he said. “The moon, the statue. The world wide open around us.”

“You like the chance of getting caught,” I countered.

“No. I like not getting caught. And as we have already established, you, Detective, like excitement.”

“I’m pretty sure there are laws against what you’re thinking about.”

“Probably. But in the world that exists between me and you, for the next few days, I am the law.”

“Oh, really?”

“My rules, remember? My way.” He eased closer to me, making that sizzle that had been running under the surface snap to life.

“Someone might come by.”

“They might,” he said. “I think the odds are low considering how late it is, but they certainly might.” He grabbed the hem of the T-shirt and pulled it easy over my head. He tossed it on the ground. Then he gave a quick tug to the drawstring of the pants, making them immediately slide off my hips.

I licked my lips, then stepped out of the sweats, now completely naked in front of him.

“I hope someone does come by,” he said, his voice low and easy. “Just imagine what they’ll see.”

“Tyler—”

“You, naked. Under me. Trying not to scream as the stars fall down around you. Tell me you like it.”

“Yes,” I said. Already I was wet. Already my nipples were tight. Already I craved his hands upon me.

“I thought so,” he said, stepping closer and sliding his fingers between my legs, then arching a brow when he felt my slick heat. “So tell me, Detective. Doesn’t it feel good to be bad?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “God, yes.”

“I want to be inside you now.”

His words were a seduction, a promise, an enticement.

“We can’t. We shouldn’t.” But my body was already thrumming, and it was all I could do not to writhe against his hand.

He drew me close, kissed me softly. “We can,” he said. “And we probably shouldn’t. But we will anyway.”

“How do you do this to me?” I whispered. “I’ve never felt—never done—”

“Because I see you,” he said, reaching out to lightly tease my breasts. “And because I told you what I saw. Lay down, Sloane.”

I did, resting my head and shoulders on the discarded clothes. My heart pounded, and I could see the way my pale skin glowed in the moonlight. I glanced around, afraid I would see some person peering out from the shadows to watch us.

But there was no one, only Tyler, looking at me with such fierce desire that my body fired even more, my breasts tightening, and my sex throbbing with the need for his touch.

“Jesus,” he said, “you make me hard.”

“Then fuck me,” I said, reaching for him. He knelt over me, and my fingers found his fly, tugged it down. I slipped my hand inside and found his cock, so hard, so ready. “I want you dressed. I want you like this. Here. Now.” I met his eyes. “I want skin on skin, Tyler.”

He tilted his head, the posture casual, but there was heat—and understanding—in his eyes. “Do you?”

“Desperately. I’m clean,” I said. “Tell me you are, too.”

“I am,” he said.

“Then fuck me,” I begged, then closed my mouth over his, the kiss hard and wild. He’d cast a spell over me, but I didn’t care. I wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted the night sky above us.

“Fuck me,” I repeated as I tugged his hand, tumbling him down on top of me.

“Fuck me,” I cried, as he drove himself into me, deeper and harder, taking everything I had to give and then some. My body was open to him, wild for him. I’d never known anything like this. Freedom mixed with fear, wildness tied to desire, lust keyed on just one man.

“Tyler,” I moaned, as the building orgasm whipped over me, pulling me up and out of myself, and then—finally—spiraling me off into the night, and into the stars that rained like a firestorm down upon us.

I awoke to the aroma of coffee and the sensation of something soft brushing over my naked abdomen. I opened my eyes, only to find that I still couldn’t see.

Blindfold.

I shot up, spurred into motion by the burst of fear. My heart was pounding, and my fingers grappled at my face—then were suddenly stopped by strong warm hands gently pulling my fingers free before I could rip the blindfold away.

Tyler.

“Tyler, please.”

“Shhh. You’re not tied up. You’re safe. You’re still in bed, and you’re safe.” He brushed a kiss over my lips. “I want you to leave it on. If you have to take it off, I won’t stop you. But if you can do this, I know that you’ll enjoy it—and I’m damn certain I’ll take you places you haven’t gone before.”

I swallowed, still edgy, but I trusted him, and I was calmer.

I wiggled my arms and legs as if to reassure myself that I could run.

“Anytime? I can rip it off anytime I want to?”

“Of course.”

I managed an ironic smile. “Last night you wanted me to see the stars, and now you won’t even let me see the room?”

He laughed, obviously understanding that my words were my acquiescence.

“Sight is an amazing thing, Detective. It makes it so much easier to appreciate a woman’s lovely curves.” I heard him move around the bed, could almost feel his eyes upon me. “To see more vividly all of her delights …”

Gently, he took my ankles, then spread my legs.

I squirmed, still so easily embarrassed, despite everything we’d done. But it was different somehow since I couldn’t see his face, could only imagine his expression and the heat in his eyes.

“Don’t,” he said gently. “Do you have any idea how lovely you are? How hard it makes me just knowing that you want me? How incredibly exciting it is for me to see just how much you want me?

“Sight,” he continued, and I gasped as his finger stroked slowly over my sex, dipping inside me just enough to tease and make me squirm again, this time in a silent demand for more. A demand he ignored and instead withdrew his finger. Withdrew his touch altogether.

“And taste and smell,” he added, his voice now near my ear and his finger brushing my lip. “That’s it. I want you to know just how sweet you taste to me, how much I crave the scent of your arousal.” He traced his finger over my lip, then under my nose.

“There are words, too. The sound of my voice, telling you soft things. Or maybe my words are rough. Hard. Telling you I’m going to stroke you with a featherlight touch or fuck you until you scream.”

I could feel my sex clenching, and knew at the change in his tone that he saw it.

“Keep your legs spread for me, arms, too,” he said, and I whimpered in protest, certain that if I could rip off the damn blindfold I would drown in his expression of smug satisfaction.

“Please,” I said. “What about touch? It’s a sense, too.”

“So it is. Is that what you want?”

“I want you to touch me,” I said. “I want you inside me.”

“Soon,” he promised. “But until then, I think we can make you want it just a little bit more.”

I felt something whispy and soft graze my skin.

“What is it?” I asked. “A feather?”

“There are feathers,” he said. “And little strips of leather all bundled together like a flower at the end of a flexible stick.”

“Um …”